Stockholm Syndrome
by weeaboo-sensei
Summary: Not all mistakes are regrets, though sometimes it's hard to tell. Russia attempted to abduct and rape America, but it seems he's grabbed the wrong person. That doesn't mean he'll just let him go, though. Slight PruCan, forced RusCan. Russia's a bastard.
1. The First Mistake

_Mistakes aren't always regrets._

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><p>For once Russia could not be too unhappy about waking up. While the lack of a hangover would usually be the sign of a good morning, it barely took even his groggy mind to remember what made this one so much better. As if to prove this to himself, he reached out towards the warmth beside him and stroked the silky blond hair that was waiting there for him. It was softer than he had expected, longer, too, the slob must have been letting it get shaggy. Tired eyes registered the blond hair a few shades lighter than he remembered, but the lighting in the room was off.<p>

The tear-stained face before him could not belong to anyone but America. He was sure of it. Certain.

So it was all the more shocking when he felt movement beneath his hand as the head it was resting on shifted to a more comfortable place on the pillow and eyes opened slightly, and the blue Russia was expecting to be there was not.

America definitely had blue eyes. Russia knew this. He knew the color blue so well his language had distinguished between its light and dark shades like others did with red and pink. The set of eyes he was now faced with were not blue, no. They were the same violet as his own and that simple fact made his hand recoil in disgust.

Those violet eyes stared at him, a certain emptiness to them caused by the drug that still seemed to be in their owner's system. It was a sedative that had allowed him to have his fun, weakening the muscles without completely knocking out his newly acquired toy. It was a sedative meant for America, not this boy with the same disgusting eye color as his own.

There was a feeling welling up inside Russia's chest as climbed out of his bed. Anger? More like betrayal. But who had betrayed him? Fate seemed a likely candidate; his plan had been so perfect, after all. America, for not falling for the plan, for allowing him to believe he had (though America had no idea about any of this). This boy, he felt the betrayal bringing up more anger and anger inflaming the sense of betrayal. This boy had tricked him into thinking he was America, taken what Russia had meant for America. He would have to be punished.

In no time at all Russia had located his pipe and thought it wise to put on some pants (anger could not always suppress the awareness of how damn cold it was), he leaned his pipe on the side of the bed as he went to grab the body curled up there.

But then he hesitated.

The boy had regained enough of his senses to cry. It was not a loud show of sobs and wails, but a quiet, suppressed but steady series of gasps for air that did not want to be noticed despite shaking his whole body. His hands, bound together at the wrists, were pulled up near his face to hide the tears. Suddenly Russia thought perhaps he would not punish him after all. This thought was surprising and even a little uncomfortable to him, so he consoled himself with adding 'at least not now.'

Instead he carefully scooped up the crying boy and, leaving his pipe, took him into the bathroom. Soon he had the tub full of hot water and both of them soaking, the boy, now unbound, in his lap. Russia did not bother to see if he had the mind or energy to wash himself, and simply did it for him. Even after the crying had died off he remained unresponsive to the larger man gently scrubbing dried blood and anything else off his body. It was only when Russia had made it down to his bloodied thighs that he finally felt the other tense. As he moved closer to the inevitable conclusion, he could hear a ragged breath being drawn and he wondered if he would begin to cry again. With a soft touch he brushed away a bit of wavy hair from his ear, not certain if his voice came out harsh or soothing.

"Would you rather have it left inside?" This question was enough to prevent all protests. A sob was choked down as Russia cleaned up the last of his mess.

Once out of the tub Russia had to hold the boy over the toilet as he was sick. He was not sure if it was the drugs, disgust, pain, or some combination, and frankly he didn't really feel the need to know. Instead he wrapped him in a large towel (Russia had trouble finding ones that suited his size) and let him brush his teeth.

He carried him back down the hall, past the many empty rooms to one that shared the corner with his own. To be honest, Russia had no idea what to do with this…mistake, but considering the shaking thing could barely stand at the moment, he couldn't turn him loose just yet. So, he supposed, for now he would just have to put him off to the side, like broken toy you can't decide whether to fix or just toss.

In silence the blond was laid onto the bed, covers drawn up around him. He seemed too tired and dazed to be frightened or surprised by the little kindness, but there was a sudden faint spark in his eye, recognition of something, and his face was instantly buried into the sheets. Russia let a split second of curiosity pass over him at this act before he turned to go, a different curiosity filling him.

There were few nations with violet eyes, and fewer—if any—humans. Something nagged the back of his mind as Russia locked the door behind him. He had to know who this America-imposter was, he just could not for the life of him remember.

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><p>Hmm, my first Hetalia fic. To be honest I have no idea how good it is, I'm not used to writing anything longer than an RP post, and I don't like to write in more than one sitting.<br>I hope you can at least understand what's happened/happening. I suppose I'll make it clearer in later chapters. I'm planning to keep this short, but not sure how it's going to end yet… *le shrug* I feel bad being mean to Canada but I love it at the same time~

As a random confession, I hate writing 'blond' without an 'e' no matter how much spellcheck gets upset, but I looked it up and blonde is used to refer to a female with blond hair. Damn French.


	2. The Second Mistake

The bed he was in had once belonged to Prussia during his time with Russia. It was faint, but it still held his scent even after all these years and Canada recognized it almost immediately. He found the familiarity a small comfort where otherwise there was only pain.

His whole body ached. His wrists and ankles were raw from being handcuffed, skin covered in scratches, bites and bruises. Muscles protested at any attempt at movement, many of them overextended. Even his eyes were sore from crying.

He didn't want to think about where it hurt most.

The night before Russia had injected something into him and still he felt sluggish, though this was slowly wearing off. His mind was already more alert than it had been when he first woke, though he wasn't sure this was a good thing. It meant he was able to assess his surroundings, what happened, and even worse, begin to think of what could happen next.

The reality of the situation didn't come crashing down on Canada all at once. Instead it welled up in him in waves, often accompanied by the growing dread. Each time he felt he might be sick again, but he managed to keep it down if only because he had nowhere to go if he were. The tears were another story. They too seemed to come upon him in waves as well, sometimes with shaking sobs, sometimes unnoticed until he felt them dripping onto the pillow.

He managed to keep any memories of the previous night to a minimum. Each time one would rise up he would beat it down mercilessly, thinking of anything, anything else. The knowledge of what happened may have been ever present in his mind, but he refused the details. It would be too much.

But there was something else, something that he could not block out.

The lack of recognition on Russia's face when he had first woken up tore up what was left of his heart. The shock, confusion, anger had played across the larger man's features as Canada's mind slowly worked out their cause.

Russia had made a mistake.

He had already known that, though. It had not been his own name that was moaned and muttered that night before, but his brother's. But the look when he realized the one beside him was not America…Canada had always heard the Russian was cruel, but even that was too much. It wasn't 'oops, this isn't America, it's his brother Canada,' but 'who the fuck is this?'

If it didn't hurt so much, if it didn't make his suffering that much worse, he could've thought it was funny.

But even if Russia deserved to have his attack thwarted, it still hurt. He felt guilty immediately after the thought rose up that it should've been America lying in Russia's bed this morning. Yet here he was, injured, locked in. Suddenly panic clenched his heart with the thought that he could very well be forgotten in here, it had happened before. When he was small and had gotten in trouble, England had locked him in his room for two days when he only meant to leave him for two hours. When America had played a prank and locked him in a closet, he had only been freed because it snowed that night and he need to find his winter boots.

A new and powerful wave of tears hit him and he buried himself into the Prussian scented sheets. Canada hated himself for it, but silently he prayed his captor would come back.

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><p>Whee, I'm on a roll! Though it's pretty short...I prefer shorter chapters, though. The size of the scroll bar can intimidate me sometimes when I open a story and it gets tiny. XD;<p>

I really didn't expect all those reviews so suddenly! It really made me want to continue right away.

For this chapter, I didn't really mean for it to go this way, but I figured Mattie needed some alone time with his feelings. He's hurt, but I don't want to write one of those whimpy-Canadas, even though I like them too. Next chapter he'll be a bit tougher, and hopefully it'll stick a little.

Once again thanks for all the reviews! 3 I will try to do my best!


	3. The Third Mistake

Russia did not return until the next morning.

He was greeted with a punch to the face.

Canada had regained enough strength to stand, and though the punch wasn't very powerful, it did send Russia stumbling back a few steps and helped him regain a little of his pride.

"That was not very nice, маленький детеныш," Russia said, cracking his jaw. He swore the glare he received was exactly the same as those he received from America, it made him smirk a little to the other's irritation. The smirk grew as his eyes flicked down over the naked body before him, admiring his handiwork. "You should dress before I am tempted to take you again," he cooed, enjoying how quickly that glare deflated into a look of fear before holding out the clothes Canada had been wearing when he arrived, freshly laundered and neatly folded.

He seemed surprised as he took them. The shirt was done for, buttons torn away, but his bright red hoodie was there and he was happy to climb into its warmth. It went down far enough to cover what needed to be covered, and Russia was tempted to take back the pants and leave him with just that. Honestly, Canada was not too thrilled about putting them on, either, for different reasons. Gingerly he eventually managed to get both his boxers and jeans on, ignoring the ache from his legs and hips.

When he was clothed he looked up to see Russia still looking him over. It was unnerving, to say the least, especially when he had used up all his courage in that punch. He was a little surprised he had not hit him right back, but the giant seemed too happy about something to bother.

And he was happy. Russia was very pleased with himself because he had finally remembered the boy before him was Canada, America's twin brother. He had even done some research on the boy to refresh his memory, and had made a decision about what to do, a decision only solidified by that punch. It was weak now, since he was injured and drugged up, but if Russia did not start now he might actually have a fight on his hands if and when the blond regained his strength.

"I bet you are wondering what I am going to do with you now," he stated with a bit too much cheer in his voice as he moved in, Canada too frozen to do anything more than whimper as his tender wrist was grabbed and brought to Russia's lips. "I was wondering the same thing all day yesterday, since you were not who I was expecting."

This got the smaller nation trembling. "But I've thought about it …You've got America's face, you were raised partly by France so I'd love to see what you've picked up from him. You have that wonderful knack of being forgotten, so I doubt anyone will notice you're absence," Russia gave his trademark smile as he kissed away a tear that landed on the slender hand in his grip.

"I've decided to keep you, Canada."

Canada felt ill. Correction, he was ill. His legs finally gave up supporting him and he slumped down to the floor, a coughing, retching mess as he was sick right at Russia's feet.

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><p>Canada was lucky Russia had a cleaning staff these days, or he would have been cleaning up himself. He was also lucky none had gotten on his shoes, or they'd have gone right in his face-he had already used up his free pass with that punch.<p>

Really, he couldn't help feel a little offended. He had seen everything from people bursting into tears to spitting in his face when he had told them something similar, but none had gotten physically ill like that. Not right in front of him, at least. He'd have to go out and buy extra toothbrushes, because there was no way his new pet was going to have vomit-breath all the time.

His new pet. The thought made his usual smile seem a bit more foreboding. He had not had a pet in the house since the Soviet Union fell. This would be a little different, though. There was no politics to it; his armies had not actually invaded Canada by mistake, nor had they intended to invade America. Ivan Braginksi had just kidnapped Matthew Williams and that was that. It was certainly more subtle, less chance of causing problems.

His pet was seated silently on a small cushioned stool, a steaming mug of herbal tea in his hands. Canada had allowed Russia put him there, seeming to have gone back to that unresponsive state from the day before. At first he had thought this was the sedative or simply tiredness, but now he began to suspect this was some sort of defense mechanism for the younger man. Well, it certainly made him easy to deal with. If properly trained, perhaps he could be as good as Lithuania had been; they both had the reputation of being so kind and accommodating, after all.

Currently they were both in a room that, once occupied, was now used for storage. Russia was rummaging through boxes labeled in Russian. Canada watched him silently, and had figured out the contents of all the boxes seemed to be clothes and the labels were names of those who had once lived here and left them behind. This made sense since those with Latvia, Ukraine, and Belarus's names on them had immediately been pushed to the side, and, after one look, so had Poland's.

Every so often Russia would pull out an article of clothing and glance between it and Canada. More often than not he ended up shaking his head and putting it back. He was trying to find him extra clothes, but it didn't seem to be working. He was taller than any of the Baltics had been; actually, Russia was surprised how tall he actually was when not slouching, even slightly more so than his own twin. Even so, that did not mean his own clothes would fit him without being comically large.

It seemed as though Russia was about to give up when something caught Canada's eye. He knew enough Cyrillic to be able to figure out the names on the boxes, and he recognized the one on the box Russia had just unearthed. Without thinking he put his mug down and was on his feet, then on his knees. He dug through the box before pulling out the largest outfit he could find, a plain bluish-grey pajama set. They would be a little short for his arms and legs, but they would fit.

"You want those?" Russia asked, a little surprised at the sudden interest the boy had taken in his mission. Canada gave a little nod, folding them in his lap. "They won't be too small?" He chuckled when the boy's violet eyes narrowed at him, ruffling his hair like he would a child.

"Fine, fine, keep them. It will mean this searching wasn't a waste after all, da?" Canada produced another small nod, holding the clothing to his chest. He didn't even care about Russia's touch at the moment, his new pajamas had once belonged to Prussia. They were a tie to one of his best and only friends, one who had suffered under Russia for almost fifty years. Just holding them made him feel a little bit less broken, a little more like he could endure.

This was probably the closest he could have come to being happy again.

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><p>маленький детеныш – little cub. Idk I thought it was cute.<p>

I had the first half of this done last night, but it was so short, I decided to add onto it before posting.

In my head Canada's taller than Prussia, I dunno why, I just think it's funny if Prussia's a little short, especially if I pair them up. I looked all around for height listings, but couldn't find any for either, so meh. I did find France and England listed as the same height, though! :C France should definitely be taller!

Hehe, anyways, thanks for the reviews~

I might slow down after this chapter, but we'll see. Eventually I'm gonna have to start writing sex and that may get a bit awkward.


	4. An Unnoticed Mistake

Much of the rest of the day was spent in the house's large study. Russia sat at his desk with a never ending pile of paperwork. Capitalist or communist, his government always ended up being bureaucratic first and foremost.

Canada had been put by the fireplace in a large overstuffed armchair that seemed more than willing to envelope him if he allowed it. Russia had found an ugly but soft and warm blanket to wrap around him when he noticed the boy shivering. He had managed to curl up beneath it so only his face and a few locks of golden hair poked out, reminding Russia of a babushka doll. Beside him on a small table, there was a tray with tea and crackers Canada found to be the Russian equivalent of Saltines. Neither trusted his stomach with anything more.

They stayed there relatively undisturbed. Every now and then Russia would take or make a phone call, speaking in rapid Russian Canada did not bother trying to understand. Around noon someone brought them lunch and fresh tea for each respectively.

Though there were servants, they remained out of sight unless necessary, and there were as few as possible. If Russia's house wasn't so damn big he wouldn't have any at all. He did not like so many humans running about underfoot, he had seen too many of them killed to consider them reliable. Perhaps he could eventually get Canada to do the housework instead.

Briefly he wondered if his pet would be too tall and lanky to properly pull off a little French maid outfit. The thought brought up a laugh he managed to suppress into a snort. He stole a quick glance in Canada's direction just as he was looking over in curiosity at the noise.

There was a brief moment where violet eyes met. Canada was quick to look away, Russia was not. He thought his little cub would look quite cute in the dress after all. A maid costume was added to the little shopping list in his mind.

If he was going to put him to work, he realized he'd have to go easier on him. Being rough was fine for a once-off, but now he'd have to wait for him to heal. Not to mention what a pain blood was to get out of sheets. Had he known he was going to keep the younger country, he would have been more gentle. Hopefully it wouldn't hinder his training too much; perhaps knowing what Russia was capable of when angered would keep him from causing too much trouble.

After a moment, he caught Canada trying to sneak another glance and smiled at him.

"Come here," the words were not harsh, but firm. His face set in a way that said he would not be repeating himself. Canada could hesitate, but he knew better to refuse. Slowly he stood and made his way over, stopping just outside of reach. Russia's face did not change as he gestured for him to come closer, and he had to comply.

"You are afraid of me."

The blanket fell to his shoulders as the blond rapidly shook his head in denial.

"Do not lie. I have given you good reason to be afraid, and you are not an idiot."

Canada looked away, fidgeting with the blanket. He did not want to admit to fear, but it was evident in the way he froze up when Russia suddenly pulled him into his lap.

He did not think to struggle; he was too busy trying to keep the shaking confined to his hands as Russia's own found their places on his hips. Though neither could see, his fingers lined up almost perfectly with bruises there. The hot breath on his neck made Canada shiver and instinctively lean forward in an attempt to curl in on himself, but Russia followed, speaking in his ear with a soothing voice.

"I want you to know—and I suspect you might already—that the amount of violence the other night was not meant for you. Next time it will not hurt so much, I assure you."

It was almost an apology, but that was not what Canada's mind focused on. _Next time_. There would be a next time. It was inevitable. He had known, but now Russia confirmed it and there was no room for hoping.

But if he said 'next time,' that meant it was not now, right?

Suddenly he tasted something metallic and realized he had bitten the inside of his lip. Silently he sucked the wound, trying hard to calm himself. 'Next time' meant that for now he was safe, even if Russia was holding him like this, he wouldn't try anything. His tensed muscles relaxed somewhat, and Russia felt a smirk come across his face.

When he was certain it would not give his pet a heart attack, Russia shifted them so his chin was on the smaller's shoulder and went back to work. A small point ticked into his head, for this moment the Canadian had invested a small amount of trust in him.

Russia had trained enough people to know how to manipulate their trust and fear. Fear was important for control, but too much could paralyze, or worse, make them flee. Trust was more subtly earned, even if he were feared, the person could depend on what he would and would not do. It built up even as he chipped away at it, since as long as he didn't take out more than he made, it would work out in his favor. The point was to get them to stay willingly, to want to be with him and depend on him even if he hurt them.

They stayed like that for a few more hours, until he was certain Canada had become comfortable with being held. When Russia noticed his eyelids drooping, he dubbed the session a success.

Slowly he stood, holding the drowsy boy to his chest and hooking his arm under his knees so he could carry him. It pleased him to find no protest other than a small startled noise when first lifted, and he even found a hand twisting itself into the fabric of his shirt for balance.

With a smile, Russia returned his charge to Prussia's old room, which had been thoroughly cleaned after that morning. He offered to help Canada change into his new pajamas, but was refused with a cute little glare that sent him giggling all the way down the hall.

America's brother was proving to be quiet an interesting little toy. So much so that it only struck him a while later that he had yet to hear him speak.

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><p>As I write, I find that Russia does not consider anything he's doing to be wrong. That's just how he is. It kind of makes it more fun.<p>

Haha, I'm so bad. I wrote this whole chapter on a notepad at work.

Next chapter: pancakes! It is not a Canada-centered fic if he does not make pancakes.

Once again, thanks for the reviews! They really do make me happy, especially when you tell me exactly what you like~ (Like apparently my Canada's got spunk. I'm so proud of him~ I don't want a weakling Canada.)


	5. Many Mistakes

When he awoke, all Canada could think of was food.

He hadn't eaten anything but crackers in almost three days, and it was finally catching up to him. His stomach grumbled as he sat up, running his fingers through his hair to straightened it a bit. He was so occupied with fantasizing about a mile-high stack of pancakes that where he was almost didn't dawn on him until bare feet hit cold hardwood. Canada's bedroom was carpeted.

His heart sank as he stood there for a moment, shivering. But then he shook his head. No, he would not give up so easily, he could get through this. Plenty of others had been in this situation before him, he had to remember that. Here he was in Prussia's room, in his pajamas, what would he say if Canada lost hope after just a few days? He tried to imagine the albino giving him a pep talk, but all he could imagine was him asking for pancakes.

Pancakes…

Tentatively he went to the door and turned the knob. It opened. He almost smiled, turning back and pulling on his sweatshirt before quickly exiting the room. At first he was worried about being caught by Russia, but then he decided that if he did not want him to be wandering, he should have locked the door.

It took him a while to find the kitchen, but once he did he set right to work figuring out what was stored where. Canada was excited to find, after much searching and inspection (he could not read all the labels, but could figure it out after poking his nose in), everything he needed to make pancakes. With a small smile, he pushed up his sleeves and went to work.

Within an hour or so he had a fairly decent sized stack going, he was in his groove. When he was small France had taught him how therapeutic cooking could be, and it really helped him forget about his problems.

That is, until his problems grabbed him around the waist.

"Aren't you making those blini a bit thick?"

Canada jumped, whirled around, and SMACK. The spatula in his hand caught Russia right in the nose. The larger man gave a little yelp of surprise and pain as he released him to grab his injured nose.

"Ah…!" Canada opened his mouth to apologize, but stopped. He…Well, he wasn't actually sorry. Russia kind of deserved that. Instead he just stared up at him nervously, clutching the unintentional weapon and waiting for the retaliation.

Who knew Canada would die making pancakes?

But no attack came. After a moment or two of rubbing his sore appendage, Russia pouted down at him. "That hurt. Kiss it."

It took a moment for the Canadian to process those words, staring up at him in shock.

"Won't you kiss it? You did hit it, after all," Russia pouted more, looming over the smaller man. Canada didn't know what to do. He definitely did not want to kiss Russia, even on the nose, but who knew what would happen if he didn't.

After a long moment, the blonde used a shaking hand to grasp one end of the giant's scarf, then the other. With a little trepidation, he gently pulled; coaxing the tall man to bend till they were level and he could place a soft kiss onto his nose.

Russia smirked to himself and took the opportunity he had created. Before Canada could react he had him by the back of the head, fingers twisting in the blonde waves. When the boy opened his mouth to let out a little gasp, Russia plunged his tongue inside.

Canada felt his eyes water, trying and failing to pull away. It felt and tasted disgusting and he couldn't breathe. Without thinking of the consequences he listened to what his instincts screamed and bit down.

Now he really was going to die.

Russia's eyes widened and he let out an enraged growl, pushing him away.

He saw red.

Canada screamed in pain.

But Russia hadn't done anything yet. The scream startled some of the rage out of it and he noticed the frying pan on the floor.

Canada had fallen against the stove, the heel of his palm and the inside of his forearm catching on the burner. He had pulled away, but the damage was done. Those violet eyes were blinded by tears and he stood there dumbly, clutching the burned arm. His legs shook and he probably would have collapsed if Russia had not grabbed him and thrust his arm beneath the faucet, turning on the icy water.

On instinct Canada tried to recoil from the sudden cold, but Russia held him there. His other arm wrapped around his middle, keeping him up. Gently he kissed at the top of his head, trying to calm the sobs and shaking. "Shh…shh… мой маленький детеныш…it is not that bad…it is not that bad…just painful…I know…I know…shh…"

Eventually the sobs stopped and he let him out from under the water, sitting him at the table and placing a dishcloth dampened in the cold water over his arm. Then he went to find the first-aid kit.

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><p>By the time Canada got to eat his pancakes they had gone cold. There was no syrup, and for some reason Russia had put jam on them before giving them to him. They were probably the worst he had ever had that were not made by England, and he sat there like a child as he ate, with tears still in the corners of his eye and a pouty look on his face. Russia thought it was adorable.<p>

There was not much talk between them as Russia treated the burn. He had given him his food and crushed up some painkillers into a warm glass of milk for him to drink. When he did speak it was soft assurances that the wound was not too serious, that he would be fine, and that it would heal quickly. The desire to punish the boy for biting him had faded, since he seemed to have accidently done it himself—the incident was forgotten. Now there was just the cleaning up, the comforting, the parts that made Russia seem more gentle and apologetic than he was.

When he seemed satisfied that his pet was calmed and had gotten all the medical attention he could give, Russia left. He returned a while later, cleaned up and properly dressed and smiled at the curious way Canada looked up at him. "I am going shopping, if you would like anything," he slid a pen and pad of paper towards him, "make a list."

Canada gazed down at the paper for a moment in thought. He did not want to be indebted to Russia, but then again…He was being forced to stay here against his will, he should have no sympathy for his kidnapper's wallet. In no time he filled out the front and back of a sheet and held it out. Russia took it with his usual smile.

"Great. I will do my best to get everything," he bent down and gave Canada a quick kiss on the forehead, leaving before he could react.

When he was gone, the blonde rubbed at the spot a little, frowning after him. Russia was so strange, sometimes he could almost forget what he was capable of.

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><p>Canada was dozing in Prussia's room when Russia returned. He had explored the room a bit, but had found very little. An old pen and some scrap paper, a broken chain from a necklace, a dull golden button. Mostly because he had nothing better to do, Canada searched the house for a safety pin and fashioned himself a necklace with the chain and button. He also made a paper airplane with one of the sheets of paper and flew it down the longest hall he could find, adjusting the design until it could make it the entire length.<p>

He never would have thought being a captive could be so boring. Being here wasn't unlike solitary confinement, except the house was huge and there were people he would glimpse out of the corner of his eyes sometimes, but they never spoke to him. There was also Russia, which was like having a hungry bear wandering the prison just for that added sense of fear, except for now the bear was gone.

Hence why he was nearly asleep when Russia came into the room, both arms full of bags. He looked awfully proud of himself, Canada noted from where he lay curled up on the bed, injured arm propped up above his head.

"The food you wanted is downstairs, but I bought you clothes," Russia announced, rather unceremoniously dumping the bags on the floor. He then proceeded to show him every single article of clothing he had purchased for his pet, to said pet's annoyance.

It was all based on what Russia thought would look cute or sexy, with no thought given to Canada's taste or even comfort. The clothes were mostly casual, basic things like t-shirts, sweaters, and pajamas. He also got him a suit for some reason Canada could not understand but Russia shrugged off as 'just in case'. Russia really had gotten him a maid outfit, which caused a red-faced Canadian to throw a pillow at him and then groan in pain, having used his bad arm. He had even thought of boxers and socks, but gave him no shoes or coat, saying that he'd hold on to those until they were needed.

"And finally, there's this," Russia said as he dug through the last large bag, pulling out something fluffy and white. He sat it down at the end of the bed, and Canada peered down at it.

It was a small stuffed polar bear with a knitted hat and scarf. Canada's heart suddenly ached, remembering his bear at home and hoping he was able to take care of himself while he was gone. For a minute he was trying to decide between kicking it off the bed and hugging the toy until its stuffing fell out, but eventually his need for comfort overwhelmed the spite.

Russia smirked as he watched the boy pull the stuffed bear into his lap, turning to leave. In the doorway he paused to utter words that made Canada's heart run cold, "And do not worry, мой маленький детеныш, you can repay me with your body."

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><p>мой маленький детеныш – my little cub<p>

Blini are a kind of really thin pancake popular in Eastern Europe. You can google them since I'm bad at explaining. In Russia they can be served with various things, so Canada's lucky he didn't put sour cream or caviar on them instead.

Rawr! This chapter is the longest yet, and things actually happened! Aren't you proud of me?

When I first started writing this, I told myself I didn't care about reviews, but the really do make me feel motivated. So thank you and keep 'em coming. :3


	6. No Regrets, Many Regrets

_Just as a warning, **this chapter contains rape.**_

* * *

><p>Canada got two more weeks of peace before Russia reached his limit and came through on his threat. The blonde was cute and innocent in a way his twin could never be, and he wanted him.<p>

He came for him in the night, waiting until he was certain the boy would be asleep before entering his room, it made things easier. The blankets were pulled away and Russia was already on top of him by the time Canada woke up. Before he could make a sound Russia's hand was over his mouth, forehead pressed against his own.

"Shh…it is okay…" But it wasn't, he understood immediately and his eyes began to fill with tears. Russia whispered little lies to sooth him as he used his free hand to get rid of any clothing in the way. The night was cold and Canada shivered as his body was slowly exposed to it, Russia's proximity making it worse instead of better.

Any attempt to push the man off was futile, he twisted and squirmed beneath him, but it was just useless movement. When Russia tried to slip his fingers into his mouth he bit, earning a slap. The giant glared down at him in irritation, "I do not want to have to hurt you," his voice had already grown husky as he kissed along the cheek he just slapped, "There is nothing you can do. Relax, and I'll make you feel good too."

Canada let out a harsh sob as his legs were jerked apart and Russia began sucking his own fingers to get them slick. He wracked his brain, trying to think of something, anything to get him to stop. A finger tried to push into him and his hips recoiled, his voice suddenly coming out ragged and weak. "Будь ласка припиніть!"

Russia paused, more than a little taken aback that the first words he was hearing from the boy were Ukrainian. He leaned in and gave his pet a tender little kiss, "Close, but wrong language," he whispered, kissing away a few tears as he went back to his work.

It didn't take long for Canada to tire himself out and let his struggling die down. Russia did a poor job of wetting his fingers and the friction and stretching hurt as he moved them and added the second and third too quickly. But it was worse when they were gone, he knew what was coming next.

Through his tears he saw Russia take out a small bottle of lubricant. He let out a weak little protest as his hips were yanked up, a large portion of the bottle was poured over his entrance. The cold made him tense and shiver, Russia hadn't tried to warm it like he did for himself. Tearfully he stared up at the older nation, silently pleading he would stop, but he didn't.

Holding onto his hips, Russia leaned down and kissed the Canadian so any noise he made when he pushed into him was muffled around his tongue. Sobs began anew beneath him as he began to thrust, barely waiting a moment for his victim to adjust. He had told the truth when he said it would not hurt as bad as the first time—then he had used only enough lube for him to move comfortably and actively set out to hurt the one he thought was America—but it still hurt.

Russia was focused solely on his own pleasure. If it felt good to bite or suck on a certain patch of skin, he did. It suited him just fine when those violet eyes squeezed shut, Canada trying to imagine he was somewhere else, it made him resemble America more.

After what seemed like an eternity for the gasping blonde, there was a final hard thrust before he could feel hot liquid fill him. It made him shudder in revulsion, pulling away as soon as Russia rolled off of him with a low groan. Canada curled up and buried his face into a pillow that was starting to lose Prussia's scent and gain his own. There were a few soft mumblings of "Gil…" in between the muffled gasps and sobs.

* * *

><p>At what must have been close to four or five AM, Russia felt stirring beside him as Canada left the bed. A few minutes later he heard the shower turn on, grumbled, and fell back asleep.<p>

Hours later he awoke to hear the shower still running, the empty space beside him was cold. The groggy Russian sat up, using the sheets to clean himself off—they'd have t be washed anyways. He found his pants and pulled them on, looped his scarf around his neck, and trudged out of the room.

A cloud of steam blew into his face as he opened the bathroom door. He found his pet sitting in the bathtub with the shower running, knees hugged to his chest, wet hair dripping over his eyes. The hot water made his skin flush an angry red, though he seemed to take no notice despite having cried so much over getting burned before.

Though he didn't look at him, Russia could see the boy tense as he approached and reached out. But Russia did not touch him; instead he put the plug in the drain and started filling the tub instead. He kneeled beside the large porcelain tub, resting his chin on the edge so he was on level with Canada. "Please do not waste so much water."

Beneath the drenched blonde hair, Canada gave a weak nod. Once the bathtub was filled to the brim with steaming water, Russia shut off the faucet and left.

Canada stayed in the tub the rest of the day. In the evening Russia finally had to pull the shivering boy out, the water long ago having turned frigid.

* * *

><p>Будь ласка, припиніть – please stop (In Ukrainian. Canada is friends with Ukraine, so...)<p>

Sorry if this chapter is no good. I've never written a sex scene outside of an rp before, especially not one like this, so it was kind of awkward.

The next chapter might take a bit longer (can you believe I've gotten out a chapter almost every day so far?), since I'm not certain what I want to write just yet. Though I have pretty much figured out how this will end, it's just a matter of how much I want to put in before that.

Actually, it would be interesting to know if you guys would prefer a good ending (Canada gets rescued), or a bad ending (Canada stays with Russia). It might change my mind on the ending I'm thinking of now.

I'm also considering a sequel, but that would be really different, and depends on what sort of ending it is.

Once again thanks for all the reviews. :3

I hate stories where Russia's the absolute villain and is just terrible all the time or he's just a bucket of angst, here I'm trying to make it just casual. This is how he is, he doesn't even really think about it, it's normal for him.

As for the person who requested a scene, I'll see what I can do. No promises though ;P It's simple enough, but I might be bad and forget.


	7. A Certain Albino's Regrets

Prussia realized he might have to apologize to Canada.

The last time he had seen him, they had had a small argument, but he hadn't thought anything of it. But now he wondered if his friend had really gotten angry at him. He wouldn't answer his calls or emails, he hadn't even looked at his blog! Prussia knew, because he had baited it with a post about hockey, and even if the Canadian never wanted to speak to him again, he couldn't have passed up a chance to talk about hockey.

For what must have been the millionth time he listened to the recorded spiel of Canada's answering machine, which of course played in English and French and explained that this was not America's number. Finally it beeped and Prussia left his message, "Mattie, you better listen up. I am coming over there, and if you're ignoring me because of that stupid flower thing, the awesome me is going to make a very special exception and give you the best damn apology you have ever seen. So much so that you're gonna use up every bottle of syrup in the damn province making me awesome pancakes of forgiveness. So you better go buy those now, cause I'm taking the pun-not-intended redeye and will be at your door by the time you're putting that maple-flavored toothpaste on your toothbrush."

Really, Prussia had been waiting for this damn trip for weeks after making the mistake of asking his brother to book the flight. He just had to wait for the most efficient itinerary and Switzerland had talked him into waiting for the best deal. If Canada really was angry with him, he had had plenty of time to stew in it. His apology would definitely have to be awesome.

What had they even fought about? Well, a certain tall nation with a scarf, of course.

Xx

"Mien gott, Mattie, isn't this what stalkers do?" Prussia asked incredulously, watching as hundreds of tulips were being unloaded into his friend's yard.

"Oh hush up Gil, it's just his way of showing his thanks," the blonde rolled his eyes, trying to ignore him and oversee the massive gardening project he now had.

"Ja, but _every year_?"

"It's sweet."

"It's creepy," the albino corrected, "if you weren't three feet too tall, I'd say he was trying to get into your pants."

"_Excuse me?" _Now it was Canada's turn to be incredulous, a tint of red entering his face.

"I'm just saying to be careful around that lolicon. You still have a baby face and that long hair doesn't help." Prussia gave his usual 'kesesese' laugh and pinched the younger nation's cheek, causing him to pout and slap his hand away.

"Oh shut it! It's not like that, and even if it was, it's none of your business. Maybe I like taller guys."

Prussia let out a little snort, ignoring what could have been a shot at his own height. "Ja, right. Today, he gives you flowers, tomorrow he'll come by and ask you to put on a little schoolgirl outfit~"

"Gil!"

"You can put your hair up in little piggy tails and call him sensei, I'm sure that'll light his pipe right up."

"Jesus Gil, you hang out with Japan too much." Canada let out an annoyed growl and turned away to hide his red face. "If you can't tell, I'm busy. If you want pancakes you're out of luck."

"Aw, c'mon Mattie," Prussia whined, but the blonde was already walking away. "Come on, I was just teasing!"

"Go home!" He called back, disappearing into the crowds of gardeners and tulips.

* * *

><p>Prussia knew better than to arrive at Canada's house unarmed. He had a whole bag full of awesome for his friend: maple candy, German chocolate, maple candy covered in German chocolate which he had gotten Germany to make out of curiosity and decided was awesome, the most awesome German beer, a little stuffed moose he had seen at the airport and couldn't resist buying, and a big pot of cornflowers because they were awesome and<em> Prussian<em> blue and the Canadian was probably sick of looking at tulips all the damn time. Yes, Prussia did not apologize often, but when he did he did it damn right. Especially since he, well, he actually felt maybe a little guilty for hurting the blonde's feelings without realizing, because Canada was so damn nice that he must be incredibly mad if he was ignoring him.

But the ex-nation was going to fix that! He was the picture of determination as he exited his rental car and marched up the little path to the bright red door of the Canadian's home. Without hesitation he rang the doorbell and heard the little musical chime play inside. Then he waited.

And he waited.

And pushed the button again.

And waited.

And waited.

And knocked loudly.

And waited.

And now his knuckles hurt from more knocking.

And rang the doorbell over and over and over until _finally_ the door creaked open and an angry polar bear slapped his hand away from the button. "Who?"

"Prussia. Where's Canada?"

"Who?"

"The guy who feeds you."

"Not here." Prussia frowned down at the bear before turning his head towards the driveway.

"His car is here."

"Not here," the bear insisted, moving to close the door.

"Then I'll wait."

"No one's allowed in if he's not here."

"The awesome me doesn't answer to fat white bears," Prussia tried to push his way in, but reconsidered when the fat white bear growled in a very not awesome way.

"Dammit, he's in there, isn't he? I just want to talk." But the damn bear slammed the door in his face. _Someone_ didn't have their morning coffee.

Well, whatever, the awesome Prussia definitely wasn't left pouting on his frien—ex-friend's doorstep. Canada was definitely inside and refusing to see him even though he had said he was coming to apologize. That was the polar opposite of awesome. He didn't need to put up with this treatment.

"This is totally not awesome Mattie! Come out and face me like a man!" He shouted up at the house. There was no response. He huffed.

"Fine then!" The bag of goodies was dropped, the pot of flowers thrown so it shattered against the walkway, dirt and little blue flowers scattering into the yard that had way too many tulips. He kicked the head off one as he stormed back to the car.

Fine! Like he even cared that brat didn't want to see him! It didn't matter; he had plenty of other people to hang out with! He would just go bother Germany, or…

Prussia was fine, better than fine, he was awesome. He definitely didn't need a stupid kid. He definitely wasn't lonely.

* * *

><p>Whee! I got my computer fixed! Thank you all for waiting. 3 Sorry if the chapter is a bit odd, I wrote half of it before my computer broke so there's about a week between writing the two halves.<p>

Let's see, Netherlands sends Canada some ridiculous number of tulips every year in gratitude for Canada's help during WWII. Kumajirou is cranky cause he's all alone, and now Prussia is too. I want to try maple candy with chocolate.


	8. Daily

"From now on, sleep in my bed."

Canada paused in his cooking for a second before directing a nod at the pot of soup in front of him. There was nothing he could do; he was not strong enough to fight and getting upset only made him weaker. Already he had lost too much weight, crying made him lose his appetite and nerves made him lose what did make it to his stomach. It was better not to think about it.

It's said, after all, that humans can get used to anything, which was doubly true for nations. It made it easier for Russia to train his pet. He no longer spent whole days in the bath or got sick after sex—or at least got better at hiding it. He learned the futility of struggling and Russia seldom had to discipline him, and even then just one or two good smacks did the trick. Russia even got him to do most of the cooking and even a little cleaning, though when he tried to pull out the maid costume the blonde would not hesitate to throw something at him. Luckily Russia found this too amusing to punish him for it.

When the soup was ready and served, Russia pulled his pet onto his lap. When he did this Canada always tried to pretend he was small and sitting with his papa, though France would have never touched the child like Russia touched him. On good days this would not happen and he would sit across the table, on okay days he would have to bear with this uncomfortable seating arrangement. On bad days, when the meal was finished, he was dessert. This was a bad day.

The hard wood of the table was cool against his cheek and he focused on the lines and swirls in the grain until he swore they started to move. The grunts and soft squeaks and mewls that echoed about the room seemed distant and he thought about the time at a party he had gotten drunk and Prussia made him dance with and equally drunk Spain. They had gotten tangled up and fallen over each other, along with France who had been yelling about protecting his daughter's chastity.

A soft tug on his hair brought the Canadian back to reality enough to slide himself off the table and onto his knees. He gazed up at Russia, lips parted expectantly, until the larger man pulled them apart more to spill his seed into his mouth. The blonde had not taken long to learn how the Russian enjoyed seeing his pet covered in the disgusting substance; he swallowed what he could but did not move to wipe off what had missed.

He was gone again by the time Russia brought him up into a kiss, thinking that next time he would make Prussia dance, too. That way Spain could dance with Romano, he had gotten so made last time.

* * *

><p>If Russia was put off by the fact that Canada did still not speak to him, he at least knew the boy was not completely mute. On occasion, if he was sneaky, he could hear the boy speaking to himself or the little stuffed polar bear (he had it named Knut, apparently) he kept safe in his room.<p>

It was even better, though, when he could catch the blonde singing. His singing voice was not what he expected. It had a rawness to it, unlike the trained voices European nations ended up with after hundreds of years of practice and perfectionism. No good for opera, but it was perfect for something more jazzy or that 'country' singing both he and his brother were so fond of (whether they admitted it or not). He rather liked it, though he knew it would make Austria cringe the same way his violin playing—er, 'fiddling' had at the past Olympics.

For such a large man, years of practice had made Russia light enough on his feet to move about the house unheard if he so chose. It was quite fun to use this gift to sneak up on his pet.

Now, for instance, the blonde was singing in soft Quebecois-accented French as he loaded his clothing into the washing machine. As Canada carefully avoided any stains produced by a certain Russian, said Russian stood quietly at the door and listened.

"_Temps après temps je calme. Et mes larmes te ramènerons pas…Et coup apres coup que je donne il ne me lachera pas…Et il ne me connaît pas vraiment et toi tu ne cherche pas à l'instant…Pourtant je cherche pourquoi—"_ And it is there that Russia decides he must hold the smaller boy around the waist, where he has grown so comfortable putting his arms, even though he knows it will end the song. Sure enough, Canada's throat released one final squeak before it's forgotten how to vocalize.

"That is a lovely song," he purred into his ear, even though his grip on modern French, especially Canadian French, is probably on par with a toddler. He takes the time to savor the body heat in his arms before leaving a flushed and flustered Canadian standing dumbly in the laundry room.

* * *

><p>When the cat's away, the mice will play—and when Russia is away, Canada almost doesn't know what to do with himself, but he did try to play.<p>

He felt safe enough to carry Knut around the house with him, as usually he worried an angry Russia would tear the doll. On occasion he would find himself speaking to it like he would with Kumajirou, but obviously it doesn't speak back. The toy was named after the polar bear cub from the Berlin Zoo Prussia had been obsessed with for a while. The albino had even joked about carrying it around with him like Canada, but that took a special kind of bear, not to mention how jealous the little birdie on his head had gotten.

Long ago Canada had lost track of the days and months, but he had been here long enough to find wandering boring. All the books were in Cyrillic, the daytime tv was in Russian and like everywhere else, horrible, a video game system would most definitely not be found, and of course the computer was kept safely locked away. But it was warm…Canada wanted to go outside.

Russia still refused to give him shoes or a coat, he could not hope to run without them if he wanted to get very far. But the Canadian was hardy enough to stand barefoot out in the grass for a little while. The ground was cold and muddy from melting snow, yet after all the time he had to spend indoors he found it oddly pleasant between his toes.

It had surprised him, at first, how isolated Russia's house was. There was no other structure, besides a defunct stable house, as far as the eye could see. It was disheartening, to say the least. Canada wondered if he had ever felt as alone as he did standing in Russia's front yard, the plush Knut clutched to his chest. Even if no one visited him at home, he was still on _his_ land, and he still had Kumajirou. Standing here, he suddenly felt like a sad parody of himself.

The session of well deserved self pity was cut off by the sound of an engine. Canada's head shot up to see Russia's car come into view. Wide eyed, he scrambled back into the house and hurried to wipe his muddied feet—the last thing he needed was to leave a trail through the whole house. Russia had been at a meeting, and thought Canada longed to know what transpired there—whether anyone wondered where he was, mainly—he knew the kinds of moods those left people in and did not feel like risking any misplaced rage.

With the security of at least a staircase between them, Canada sat in the doorway of his bedroom and listened. He expected the door to slam open, heavy stomping and objects being thrown, maybe one or two glass objects breaking. Some terrified part of him feared he might hear his name being called, or at least shouting. He did not expect even-toned voices, only one of them belonging to the giant who had left.

The blonde's eyes grew wide as he listened. Russia was not alone.

* * *

><p>Mm, some awkwardness in this chapter, little random bits too small to stand on their own, and then a cliff hanger~ Who's with Russia?<p>

I loved the fiddling they had at the Opening Ceremonies at the last winter Olympics. I loved the Russian jackets, too~ All the swirls…

It's not important to translate the lyrics unless you want to see how PruCan-y they are, but the song is Berceuse by Coeur de Pirate (who is Canadian, of course!)


	9. The Biggest Mistake

It did not take long for the mysterious second voice to be identified. Canada would recognize that laugh anywhere.

America! His brother was here! He had come to rescue him!

Canada's heart leapt as he did, in an instant he was on his feet and at the top of the stairs. But then he stopped. If America had come to rescue him, why had he come with Russia? There would be no way for them to leave unless they stole his car. And…why were they speaking so normally? Maybe…maybe he didn't know he was here…Maybe he had just come along so they could continue discussing whatever they had been at the meeting…or…

Maybe it was a trap.

Was Russia going to try to go after America again! He couldn't! Why would he keep him there all this time if he was going to go after his twin, the original target, anyways? Was he not good enough?

He froze, knuckles white on the railing. _Was he not good enough?_ He shouldn't…he shouldn't think something like that. Canada shook his head, but the question stuck to the back of his mind. Knees gave out and his body sunk down onto the floor, feet resting on a step below. If this was a trap he had to go down and warn America. No, even if it wasn't he had to go down, then America could take him home.

But…he couldn't move. He sat there frozen, straining to hear his brother's distant voice. If it sounded like Russia was trying anything, he'd go down. There was no way he'd let him do what was done to him to anyone else, he couldn't…

Canada didn't know how long he sat there, but it must have been a long time because suddenly it had started to get dark. Sounds of distress never came—he heard them walking down the hall, and realized they were saying goodbye. They were in the doorway; he could see it from where he sat. He had not seen his brother in what felt like an eternity and suddenly there he was, smiling like an idiot as usually, like nothing was wrong.

If he just called out, America would hear him. If America turned, he would see him sitting there. If he just walked down the stairs, there'd be no way for Russia to stop him in time.

But he couldn't find the voice to call out. America didn't turn. Canada couldn't move. He just stared at his brother; silently praying he would sense the eyes on him, but he was too oblivious for that and for some reason Canada couldn't bring himself to attract his attention. And then he was gone.

Finally his throat allowed a noise to come out, a soft, pained, breathy little noise that brought tears with it. Russia, still in the doorway, turned at the sound and saw the blonde sitting at the top of the stairs, staring down at him. Two sets of violet eyes met for a moment before he gave the most sincere smile Canada had ever seen the nation give before he too left.

* * *

><p>In all his time at Russia's home, Canada had been surprised that he never really witnessed the man drink to excess. Having a pet around seemed to entertain him enough that he did not feel the need to drink himself into a stupor. That night seemed different, however. America must have said or done something to make him upset, because he swayed and stunk of alcohol by the time he reached the bedroom.<p>

Canada was already curled up in the bed, his tears having coaxed him into near sleep before Russia pulled him out of it. The blonde let out a startled squeak as he suddenly found himself in those large arms, eyes going wide. The rough handling wasn't that unusual, but the vodka on Russia's breath as he forced him into a rough kiss—he hadn't smelt it so strongly since that first night—it filled his heart with terror.

"маленький детеныш, you are shaking," the Russian mumbled into his ear as his hands fumbled to do away with his little cub's clothes. He really couldn't help his shaking, it felt like Russia's hands were everywhere at once. They ghosted over the off-color flesh on his forearm and he remarked, "how beautiful this has scarred." They traced the scratches and bite marks and prodded the various colored bruises that had accumulated over his body. They moved up into his hair, one tangling itself there, the other getting a grip on his jaw.

"My pet… мой маленький детеныш…you are so cute," he breathed, "you would be perfect if not for these damn eyes. I should just pluck them out." Canada felt as if all the blood had just drained from his body. He couldn't move, couldn't breathe, he couldn't even blink. Russia was staring at the violet eyes in his head as if they had personally offended him—he believed he would go through on the threat.

The shaking could only get worse as he felt the thumb of the hand holding his face move up a damp cheek towards his eye. The pain…he already imagined how painful it would be, realized the last thing he would see before being plunged into darkness would be the drunken maniac before him. In spite of his frozen state, Canada fought to recoil his head even slightly.

What happened next must have been a miracle from god. Surely someone—his mother, Jeanne D'Arc with the way she looked over his papa France, maybe even Old Fritz, Prussia so often prayed to him to watch over, maybe he could keep an eye on his friend too—he didn't know who, but someone must have been watching over him, because that moment his head tilted exactly right for the light to catch on his glasses. At once his eyes were obscured in the glare and the apparent spell they had placed on Russia was broken.

Russia let him go. Canada collapsed to his knees, sobbing at the giant's feet. His sight was spared.

After a while the fear and tears dissipated. Russia brought him up and into the bed to add to the marks on his pale flesh, only slightly rougher than usual. When he finished he held the boy to his chest, too tired to resist, he curled up against him.

As sleep was just about to overtake the room, a faint, raspy voice reluctantly made itself known. "Why…Why was he here…?"

If Russia was surprised at suddenly being spoken to after all this time, he didn't show it. "Did it make you jealous?" He teased, threading blonde hair through his fingers. Canada's only response was to curl himself up tighter.

* * *

><p>мой маленький детеныш – my little cub<p>

This would have been up sooner, but something weird was going on last night and the doc manager just wouldn't load properly. But it's fine now.

Oh goodness, the second half of this chapter was exciting to write! It's terrible, but I just came up with it and had to include it somehow, just to remind how scary Russia really could be.

I hope everyone had a good Canada day~ I had a party, hence why this chapter wasn't finished earlier.

Thank you all for the reviews, please keep them coming, they make me so happy!


	10. Good and Bad

When dealing with a hung over Russia, you give him water and aspirin and hide. It only took Canada one black eye to learn this. Thus the day after America's visit was spent as far from the cranky nation as possible. The day after that, however, something amazing happened.

Russia gave him a coat. A fluffy red coat, not unlike the one he had at home, lined with white fur. There were even boots to match. The level of awe on his face as he stared at them was almost embarrassing, but it was so unexpected.

"Put them on quickly, da? It is cold out," Russia said in his typical sing-songy voice. Out? They were going out? Where?

Canada turned to ask him just that when, like a mind reader, Russia smiled and waved a finger in his face, "Uh-uh, it is a secret." The blonde responded to this with an annoyed look, but quickly pulled the cold weather gear on anyways. Russia was more than pleased on how complacent the boy had become, not even seeming to consider trying to make a break for it as he was brought to the mystery destination.

The mix of confusion and suppressed excitement on Canada's face was adorable when he realized what the building they arrived at was. He actually had to put effort into stopping a small flair of happiness that sparked up in his chest as the Russian lead him inside.

An ice rink! Russia had brought him to an ice rink! There was a familiar chill in the air that teasingly nipped at his cheeks, quite different from the harsh cold outside. Aside from the two nations and a snoozing custodian, the place was empty—Russia had made sure of it. He watched as the wide violet eyes of the boy danced between taking in the large room and looking back at his keeper as if for affirmation, which was given in the form of a small smile.

"Come," Russia ordered after a moment, leading his pet towards the locker room, "I have gear waiting for us."

* * *

><p>Canada tried not to care about how small he felt beneath the layer of hockey padding that used to be his size, it didn't matter. It also didn't matter that the skates he wore were uncomfortably broken into feet other than his own. What mattered was what Russia had whispered oh-so-sweetly into his ear as the two skated out onto the ice.<p>

"I do not expect you to hold back. Neither will I." That was all the encouragement the typically meek Canadian needed. He almost smiled.

* * *

><p>By the end Russia had a broken nose and a black eye to match the one he had given Canada the day before. As for the Canuck, he most definitely would be finding a large bruise on his side as soon as he took the padding off, but Russia had made care to keep his face from any further injury.<p>

How long had they played? It must have been hours, the sky outside was starting to be tinted with orange glow. Even in his weakened state he still had above-human endurance, especially when the longer he held out the more opportunities for violence he got. Hockey was such a good stress relief, really, maybe if America played it more instead of baseball he wouldn't need to be so aggressive elsewhere.

By the time they were back in the locker room the blonde was completely exhausted (not to mention in pain from the large portion of his abdomen that was bruising brown). It was a pleasant exhaustion, though, an athletic high. When was the last time he had felt like that? During his time in captivity he had lost track of time, but even before he hadn't played hockey with Russia in a long while. It was too bad, he had enjoyed the occasional session, mainly because the two had no qualms with playing rough with each other.

But that was all in the past. Any semblance to that time was ruined when Russia decided to feel him up in the shower. Canada couldn't be bothered to feel violated, he was just annoyed. Couldn't the giant tell how tired he was? Well, maybe, since he actually stopped himself from fucking him then and there and settled for groping the thin body of his pet for a little while. It still sapped the last of said pet's energy, though. His limbs protested more and more as he dressed, hands becoming shaking and useless as he fought with his coat's zipper.

It really shouldn't be this hard, his people had invented the damn thing. Yet here he was fumbling like a fat fingered child. He could literally feel the amusement emanating from the Russian watching him.

"Need some help, маленький детеныш?" The blonde used all the energy he could muster to furiously shake his head in the negative, but Russian had already coaxed his hands out of the way and had the puffy red coat zipped up to his chin before he could protest. "There now," he said in that soft voice that almost made it sound like he cared about more than how long he had to let the Canadian nap before he could bed him that night, "Let's go home."

The smaller of the violet eyed men gave a tired nod and leaned against the larger as they exited the rink, leaving the lone custodian to clean up the scratches and blood on the ice.

* * *

><p>Apparently, just because Russia had not expected the Canadian to hold back, didn't mean he wouldn't be punished for not doing so.<p>

"You broke my nose," the creamy colored haired man stated plainly, dodging a book thrown at that same injured appendage. Usually he would find this small rebellion amusing, but he had already used that pass up with the hockey match the day before. Russia growled at his pet warningly, alerting him that maybe throwing things at this man was a bad idea. "Do it, or your new lover is my pipe."

Canada shuddered. He had been threatened with the Russian's favorite weapon before but had never been struck. But it was a fine line with a man such as Russia. A fine line like the one on his wall where the steel had hit before, a crack in the plaster about level with his head.

After a long moment, the blonde finally nodded. He had no choice, really. He held out his hand and felt his punishment deposited there.

With all that he had gone through, it was almost odd to expect the poor boy to have any pride left, but he did. Or he had, because he was currently suffering the most humiliating experience of his life. His whole body must have been bright red as he changed in front of the Russian who had refused to leave.

Russia had finally gotten him into that stupid maid outfit, along with all its accessories. A frilly white headdress and frilly white wrist cuffs and a frilly white apron, not to mention the frilly white petticoat underneath! Then everything else was black, the dress that barely covered what was necessary, the choker around his neck, the shoes…And just to make sure there was no chance of salvageable dignity even after being denied underwear, the grinning Russian was quite happy to add thigh-high fishnet stockings.

"Look at you! My little French maid!" he cooed, leaning close to make sure everything was in order, "Your father would be proud, da?" The smile already present on his face widened at how the boy's trembling increased at the mention of family. He could tell what his pet was thinking, how he wished he would just hurry up, push him on the bed and tear the stupid costume off. Oh, but Russia had waited too long for this, he wanted to enjoy it.

"Well, now that you're dressed for the part, why don't you go do some cleaning?" Canada looked up at him, disbelief evident in his eyes before a firm pat on the rump made him scurry off.

* * *

><p>Russia contented himself with watching his pet try to work and keep the tiny skirt over his vital regions at the same time. And here he had been worried about the boy's lankiness, when the long limbs only made the outfit seem more wonderfully skimpy. No, his body was perfect for this, just the right amount of femininity in his shape.<p>

The show was over when the poor Canadian dropped something and it rolled beneath a bookshelf. He had no choice but to get down on his hands and knees to reach it, skirt lifting just right to show just enough, and the Russian was done playing spectator. Now came the interactive portion.

Canada shuddered as the large and familiar hard pushed up the skirts that did such a poor job of covering him. What was to happen next was obvious. He tried to curl in on himself, but his hips were held firmly in place. The blonde focused on the floorboards as a belt unbuckled and pants unzipped behind him.

Tears did not come until after, when the Russian refused to let him take off the humiliating outfit. He was forced to remain in it all day until Russia removed it himself that night, the fishnets last to go.

* * *

><p>маленький детеныш – little cub<p>

Hello again~ Sorry this chapter took so long, had a bit of writer's block. I chopped it up a bit more too.

Ah, Russia is so wonderfully inconsistent, but that's just his personality, you know? And Canada is changing the more time he spends with him.

As for the story as a whole, there should be about…six-ish more chapters? Maybe less. I have a very tiny outline written down somewhere. Then there'll be the sequel!

Please keep the reviews coming. They make me more motivated. I probably wouldn't have gotten past the first few chapters without you all!


	11. Big Mistake

Hmm, I've been trying to get these chapters to at least 1,000 words each time, which is more than my professors got on my papers last semester. Let's see if I can pull it off again!

* * *

><p>Canada watched his captor dress from his position in bed, still half asleep and sore. Russia had had the brilliant idea of attacking his neck with his mouth until he woke. It was an unnerving thing to wake up too—not because of the molestation, but because it hadn't been unpleasant until he remembered it was supposed to be. The noises he had let out before he could stop himself still echoed about in his mind, he was fairly certain the man he was watching now had quite happily mumbled something in Russian about how slutty they sounded.<p>

The blonde curled up tighter as violet eyes turned their gaze towards him. He squeezed his own shut for a moment as a large hand came down and nestled into his hair. "I will be having guests this afternoon. It would be best if you stayed out of the way, da?" There was a soft tug on the locks that had been getting too long recently. "I do not want to lock you up."

Canada gazed up at him for a moment before giving the tired nod he seemed to desire. Ruissa must have noticed a hint of concern or some similar emotion on his face, for he add, "Do not worry. It is not your brother." The large hand ruffled his hair a bit too hard as he produced another nod and looked away, unsure of how he felt about that.

* * *

><p>Being an obedient little pet, Canada did indeed stay out of the way. He ate lunch alone in his room, curled up within the small impromptu fort of books he had been slowly accumulating from the library downstairs. He piled pillows and blankets into the small corner, wrapping himself in the ugliest and warmest of them, and held Knut in his lap as he flipped through a couple. Most were picture books or ones in old French from back when it had been popular in royal courts.<p>

He had just placed his half eaten bowl of stew off to the side when he heard the stirring downstairs that signaled someone's arrival. When he laid his head against the floorboards he could hear movement and muffled indistinct voices. Briefly he wondered who it could be, but made no move to investigate. He just hoped whoever it was wouldn't upset Russia like his stupid brother had; he didn't want to deal with the man being drunk again.

As he had done when America had been there, he strained his ears to listen. It was more difficult than from the top of the staircase, but the fact that he could hear at all meant they had to be in or close to the room directly below.

For hours he stayed like this, not minding the cold that seeped into his face from the floor. It was just pleasant to hear other people's voices even if he couldn't understand or identify them. At some point he was lulled into a light sleep, only to be woken up when the front door closed, meaning the visitors were gone.

Yawning softly, Canada dragged himself up and glanced out the window to see that it was early evening. Russia probably expected him to make dinner soon. Moving at the slow pace of someone still groggy, he headed downstairs.

Russia was still in the small entrance hall, the usual sickeningly sweet smile on his face as he noticed him coming down the stairs. "There's my good little детеныш," he cooed, motioning him over. Canada let him wrap an arm around his waist and kiss his cheek. "Hmm…That was a fun meeting, but I felt bad leaving you all alone."

A small whimper was suppressed as the Russian's hands and kisses moved downward, he focused his attention on the space over the larger man's shoulder. He was trying to calm himself with the fact that at least the man wasn't drinking when something caught his eye.

Slowly, soundlessly, the front door opened and a very nervous looking Southern Italian poked his head in. Almost immediately two sets of eyes met and grew wide until a hard bite into his neck forced Canada to let out a squeak and look down at the oblivious nation enjoying his body.

When his eyes dared lift back up, the door was closed and the other man gone, as if nothing had happened.

* * *

><p>Romano was, to say the least, not happy. He most definitely did not enjoy having to have a meeting with Russia. Stupid trade relations. Stupid boss. Stupid creeper Russia. The only reason he came was because there was no way in hell he'd let his brother go there alone. And now he was out a hat.<p>

They had almost been back to the car and home free by the time he had realized he forgot it. Cursing all the while, he told his fellow Italian to wait and trudged back up to the house they had just escaped. Maybe he could get in and out without Russia noticing. Yeah, that could work, he'd just have to be extremely quiet.

The brunette was the very definition of caution as he opened the door, checking if the coast was clear. The coast most certainly was not clear.

Russia stood just a few feet away with his back to him, leaning over…someone. Romano and the someone locked eyes and a spark of recognition went through him—he just couldn't remember the guy's name. It really pissed him off, he knew he hung out with that Potato Bastard Number 2 and one of Spain's old colonies, and he had the feeling he himself had quite possibly bitched to him before, but he just couldn't place him. Well, whatever his name was sure had poor taste in men, going out with the picture of insanity. Ugh, he really did not need to see the blonde getting so thoroughly felt up, no hat was worth this.

Still careful, Romano closed the door as quietly as he opened it before grumbling a stream of obscenities all the way back to the car. While the two nations drove, he tried to remember the boy's name as his brother babbled on about stopping by Germany's on the way home.

* * *

><p>маленький детеныш – little cub<p>

Haha, my remaining chapter estimate may have been totally off…

I hope I wrote Romano okay, I like his character, but don't have much experience with him, mainly because I'm not that interested in the Tomato Gang. I like him as part of my little made-up Loser/Lonely Brothers Group (Romano, Prussia, and Canada).

Oh, and you're welcome to **LolliBody** for the scene. I'm glad you liked it. C: It was simple and cute to write.

Please remember to review~ I like to know what parts people like or dislike, especially the bits about sex. I'm not comfortable being graphic with it, since it's forced, so I'm trying to keep it vague. If the sequel has consensual sex it'll probably be more...well...smutty.

Also I'm changing one of the categories, I don't think this is really romance.


	12. A Certain Albino's Realization

A sharp but weak metallic sound entered the air as an empty beer can hit the ground, the hiss of a new one being opened following almost immediately, along with an grumble of Italian. How was it that Romano was suddenly stuck babysitting some washed up old drunk? Oh, right—his idiotic brother just had to visit that stupid potato bastard and wouldn't let him wait in the car. And yet those two had wandered off anyway! What the hell?

Romano continued to grumble to himself as he watched a certain albino work his way through a case of beer and towards liver damage. This was really less amusing than it could have been, given that said albino was forgoing any possible drunken antics to type furiously on his laptop. The brunette was quickly becoming bored, amber eyes scanning the room for any signs of his sibling, or at least something to do.

There was no hope for his northern twin returning anytime soon, but Romano did notice something strikingly familiar. On top of a book sat a tomato. Or rather, a post-it made to look like a tomato. There was only one idiot who would use something like that—Spain.

Curious, Romano stood to see what sort of note Spain would have written to Prussia. Exasperation crossed his features when he found it to be only a date, until he realized the book it was attached to seemed to be a photo album. He opened it and immediately threw it to the ground and started cursing the stupid Spaniard who had made it. The first page was him, passed out, with a moustache drawn on his face with marker.

"That bastard! Just wait till I get my hands on him!" He raved, ready to stomp the damn book until he noticed the page it had opened on when it landed. A familiar face was grinned drunkenly at him, one he had seen only earlier that day. With a frown he picked the album and examined the photo, still straining to remember the name of the blonde in it.

"Hey…" he called over to the Prussian who had been ignoring him up until now. Blood red eyes shifted to him in a glare, irritated at being distracted from an awesome blog post about how lame it was to have friends. Romano tried not to let it bother him as he lifted up the picture, "What's this guy's name?"

"Canada," Prussia growled, downing another can of beer. "You can throw that one out."

The Italian tilted his head in confusion for a split second before his mind finally started to fill in the blanks. He smirked as he realized the source of the ex-nation's crummy attitude.

"Aww, so you're upset because your little girlfriend ran off with Russia?" Romano said in a teasing voice, but Prussia did not look amused. Red eyes stared at him as if what he had said was too ridiculous to believe.

"…What?"

"I saw him at Russia's house. The creeper was all over him, it was gross!" He complained, rolling his eyes.

"_What_?" Prussia was suddenly on his feet, forget unamused, the albino was downright pissed. "**WHAT!**"

* * *

><p>After an interrogation that had amounted to little more than a sobbing Italian, Prussia found himself storming about the house in search of his brother.<p>

"**WEST!**" He called, increasing anger and a hint of desperation in his voice, "Where the fuck are you!"

By the time he did find his younger sibling, he didn't even bother to make a smartass comment on the compromising situation he found him in. "West, I need to be on the next flight to Canada."

"What? Bruder, I—"

" Just get me a flight! Use a government plane if you need to!" The look on Prussia's face left no room for debate, Germany had no choice but to pry off his clingy Italian friend and start making phone calls.

* * *

><p>Through the wonder of time zones Prussia managed to arrive in Canada on what was technically that very same day, but it was still not soon enough. The familiarity of his friend's home was usually a comfort when he visited, but now it tied knots in his stomach. As soon as he fumbled out of the rental car he saw it was literally exactly as he had left it.<p>

Broken shards of flower pot crunched under his feet as the albino made his way up the walkway to the stoop where his weather worn bag of gifts still sat. The moment he could reach he pounded furiously at the door, not stopping until it was open by Canada's bear, looking even grumpier than he had before.

"I told you he's not here." It growled as Prussia returned its unpleasant look with one of his own.

"When was the last time he was?" He snapped back, though by the looks of things, it had to have been over a month. The bear thought for a long moment, not being the best with memory.

"…He left for a meeting…didn't come back."

"But his car is here." It was hard to tell if the animal rolled its beady black eyes, but he at least shook his head.

"The one that looks like him came and got him."

"America?" The bear gave a 'sure, we'll go with that,' nod.

"He does that sometimes." Prussia took a moment to chew his lip and think before turning to leave. "Where are you going?"

"To talk to America," he grumbled back, trying to cover the fear in his heart with anger. There were two ways he saw this playing out, and didn't like either of them. The first being that Romano was right, that Canada had terrible taste in men and had become Russia's lover. A deep sense of betrayal stabbed at him when he thought of this, since Canada was one of the few nations who knew details of his time living with Russia, what the sick bastard had done to him personally. He knew Canada was kind, but to think your best friend could love someone who had abused you for years hurt—but it was better than the alternative. That Russia had taken him. That he was being forced to…No, Prussia couldn't think of that. The albino spent the entire drive trying to convince himself the former option was the truth.

* * *

><p>Hey guys. Oh goodness, has it really been a month? I'm so sorry! Honestly I don't have any good excuse-tumblr has a lot to do with it... ;<p>

This chapter was supposed to be longer, but since I hit 1000 words and I had kept you waiting for so long, I decided to stop here for now and just get it up. I know it's not much, but hopefully I will have the more done this weekend, either continuing with Prussia, or a RusCan interlude (or maybe both, if I'm a good girl).


	13. Chapter 13

Canada woke shivering, the room tinted blue from the dawn light. Even for Russia's house, it seemed unbearably cold this morning. Just as the blonde was curling in on himself in an effort to preserve his remaining body heat, he felt an increase of weight on top of him. Tired eyes made their way up to noting a ridiculous amount of blankets layered on top of him and, above that, the Russian who had placed them there.

"The power is out," a muffled voice explained from underneath the man's usual scarf, which had been pulled up to just under his eyes, "there was a snowstorm." Canada produced a small sound of acknowledgment as Russia joined him under the mountain of blankets, pulling him close. Normally he would have tried to inch back away as best he could, but damn the larger man was at least warmer than he was.

Without much thought he pressed his frozen body against his new heat source, trying to at least stop the uncontrollable shivering that wracked his limbs. All the while, he felt more than heard Russia continue speaking, face nuzzled into the crown of blonde hair barely poking out from beneath the covers.

"Workers are coming, so it should be back on later. I'll have someone bring up hot food and tea, so we can just stay here, da?" Canada nodded approvingly against his collarbone, not thrilled at the prospect of being any more exposed to the frigid air than he already was.

Xx

And they did stay there, both drifting in and out of sleep. Canada too attracted by the Russian's body heat to care about proximity.

After a few hours Canada was nudged awake when, as promised, food arrived. Scooting up to a sitting position, he accepted the steaming tea offered him. The daylight hours had allowed it to grow slightly warmer, but the thin blonde still wanted to maximize all the possible heat available. So, noticing Russia had wrapped a blanket around his back as well, he took the initiative to slide himself under the same blanket. A look of mild surprise crossed Russia's features when he felt the smaller man snuggling up against his side before a small smile replaced it. What a cute little pet he had.

It seemed the boy was, for the most part, now accustomed to his life at Russia's side. He was like an adopted dog getting used to his new owner. Russia smiled at that thought and ruffled his little cub's hair, inspiring a little squeak of annoyance as a spoonful of stew missed it's mark because of the sudden motion. He giggled as Canada picked up a small piece of potato that had fallen and popped it in his mouth before pouting up at him, a smudge of gravy just beside his lips. Without a second thought, the larger man closed the small distance between them to lick it away, bringing his favorite shade of pink the boy' face.

Violet eyes avoided their match, the mouth below being stuffed with food as soon as it was free to discourage anything further. Russia kept up his amused smile as he followed suit with his own serving. He was pleased to note the thin boy beside him actually finish his meal for once before snuggling back under the covers and returning to dreamland.

Xx

"Did you know you talk in your sleep?" Russia asked when he next woke up, to which Canada shook his head, no one had told him that before. "Well, you do." The Russian gave a playful little pout, "I can't say I appreciate you calling out for other men when I'm right beside you."

Canada felt his cheeks tint pink slightly, casting his eyes downwards. He couldn't help it if his dreams were filled with the few friends he had and missed so badly. It wasn't like they were explicit; he got enough of that from Russia. He just wanted to see them, to listen to stupid stories and bad advice. The blonde couldn't help but wonder if they missed him, and this was written all over his face.

"Forget them," the larger man said softly, pulling his little pet closer, "They've obviously forgotten you."

The very words made Canada flinch. Russia said such cruel things so easily it sounded almost true. Teeth dug into his lip as he curled his thin body against his keeper. "…They wouldn't…" He mumbled softly into larger man's chest, not seeing the smirk on his face at having clearly struck a nerve.

"They have. How mean of them, forgetting all about this cute little cub." Lips pressed against the top of Canada's head, arms pulling him in closer, "I could never forget someone as cute as you. Even when we're apart I just think of the cute little one waiting here for me. I would be so sad if you weren't here. You should stay here forever, da? You don't need those stupid forgetful people."

The blonde looked down to the arms that had wrapped themselves so securely around his waist and nodded, suddenly feeling tired again. "Yeah…"

* * *

><p>It was probably a blessing that America didn't open the door with his usual grin, because Prussia would have been tempted to smack it right off his face.<p>

Instead the younger nation stood before him in bleary-eyed confusion, sleep still in control of most of his body and mind. "Prussia…? Wha…? It's…what time is it…?"

"Coffee," was all the albino could growl out after hours of driving.

"Huh?"

"Give me coffee."

The amount of time it took America to figure out his coffee maker in his groggy state was ridiculous, but eventually the exhausted ex-nation was able to welcome the much needed caffeine to his system. He was through one mug full and filling up a second when his host finally spoke up. "What are you doing here so late..er…early for?" The albino took a long sip before responding.

"When was the last time you saw your brother?"

"Huh?" America tilted his head, half in confusion, half in thought, "Umm…well…hmm…"

"You carpooled to the last meeting, didn't you?"

"Hm? No, that was the one before that. It was at his place so I just picked him up at his house…I don't remember seeing him at the last one." The sleepy nation yawned, oblivious to how his guest's features darkened at those words, "Probably had a cold or something, I wasn't feeling very well myself that day."

"So you haven't seen him since you took him home the meeting before last?" Prussia tried hard to keep the edge out of his voice.

"Ah…" America blinked, sleep still making his mind move slower than usual in spite of the coffee. "No…I didn't drop him off…"

"What!" The Prussian snapped.

"Woah, chill dude. We, um...I was gonna, but then I started talking to Japan and Mattie went to wait in the car. But I ended up talking way longer than I thought, so he must have got tired of waiting and just called a cab or something." America shrugged, mulling this story over before glancing at Prussia a little suspiciously, "Why are you asking? Is he mad or something?" Suddenly he groaned and rolled his eyes, "Look, if this is about his birthday, I haven't forgotten, okay? He's always so paranoid about that. He's the one who was late to his own party last year because he got distracted feeding squirrels or some—Why are you looking at me like that?"

At this point America noticed the Prussia was glaring daggers at him. The albino looked away, making an annoyed "tch," sound before an awkward silence filled the room. Prussia was finding it harder than he had thought to voice his fears. "I…I think Russia took Ma—Canada." Now it was America's turn to glare, voice dropping dangerously low.

"That isn't funny."

"You think I would joke about something like this?" Prussia snarled, suddenly on his feet. "South Italy saw him there, he was—"

"Like South Italy would know Matt when he sees him."

"Even if he couldn't place him right away, he knows him well enough to recognize him. He has a twin, too, give him some credit."

"This is stupid! Why would Russia go after Matt? He barely registers he exists most of the time. And when would he have…" The blonde growled softly, instincts that he had been trying to suppress since the end of the Cold War flaring up, both mind and body suddenly completely alert.

"The last time you saw him he was going to _your_ car," Prussia muttered in a surprisingly weak voice, finally coming to terms with the idea himself, "It's not hard to guess…" Quietly he slipped back into his seat, both men suddenly looking and feeling rather ill.

"I have to go get him," America said after a long while, to which Prussia snorted.

"By yourself?" The younger nation opened his mouth to give an angry response but the albino cut him off. "We'll go to my place and come up with a plan." The blonde gave him a skeptical look, much to his annoyance, "I'm helping. He's my friend. My house is closer to Russia's and I know Russia's house way better than you." Prussia stared defiantly at the taller man, daring him to make any sort of challenge which he appeared to be seriously considering before letting out an exasperated sigh.

"Fine. Let's just go." Prussia was halfway out the door by the second sentence.

* * *

><p>T.T Sorry dudes, I keep getting stuck even though I'm so close to the end! But I really wanna have this finished before I leave for college at the start of September. You can hold me to it! I swear I am trying!<p>

I-it's not like I'm not doing anything. I just got more drawing-oriented again. I have two Hetalia ask blogs on tumblr (askukraine and askpetitfrance, if you're interested~), plus just general stuff. And yeah… ; Excuses, excuses.

Also I realized while writing the first part that I keep having them eat soup/stew, but I just feel like those are good things to have when it's cold. I don't like soup or stew because I eat like I'm five, but I do eat spaghetti-o's a lot when it's cold…that's kinda similar…

I…I can't think of anything else to say…Please review and let me know what you think…And thanks to all those who have stuck through this so far! I really appreciate it!


	14. Chapter 14

Russia was coming to the conclusion that his pet's sense of temperature was decidedly warped. Just the day before he had been attaching himself to any source of heat he could find, and yet there he was, laying flat on his back in the snow. Watching from a few feet away, he could see the boy's breath rising into the cold air, its source oblivious to anything but the white world around them. His enjoyment of the snow was quite amusing; the Russian found it not unlike a puppy romping about in it for the first time and couldn't help but just watch.

Suddenly and idea seemed to strike and the ghost of the tiniest Mona Lisa level smile passed over the boy's lips. Up he went, not bothering to wipe the powder off his back as he started to gather the snow around him. Russia watched for what seemed like ages as a huge mound of snow formed and grew larger and larger, before his interest began to wane. Not wanting to disrupt whatever this task was, Russia decided to go inside and prepare something warm to eat.

By the time he had returned the boy was nowhere in sight. On instinct he scanned the ground for footprints leading off one way or the other, realizing that perhaps his little cub was not as well trained as he had thought.

However, the only footsteps not leading to the house where just where Canada had been before—ah, and then he realized his eyes had teamed up with the snow to play a trick on him. Nearly blending into the white around it was that large mound of snow, which, upon closer inspection, Russia found to have a small entranceway coming off it.

"An igloo," he chuckled in amusement, kneeling down to take a peek inside and finding the little blonde staring back at him.

"Not technically," Canada responded offhand, though not willing to go on to explain how a proper one would be built. Fidgeting with a string on his hat, he leaned against the far part of the rounded wall and admired his handiwork.

"Come in and have lunch," Russia said after he, too, got a good look at the little fort. Noticing the face the blonde made, he let another chuckle escape before starting to crawl inside, "Come on, it'll—Ah!" A frown found itself beneath the larger man's distinctive nose as he realized he could go no farther. "I can't fit."

"You weren't supposed to," came a faint answer.

"How rude, маленький детеныш," Russia whined, head and shoulders inside the igloo. Canada looked away, letting wavy blonde locks fall across his face.

"…You…look like Winnie the Pooh…" he mumbled, violet eyes casting a quick glance at their currently rather goofy looking tormentor.

"Hm?" Matching eyes blinked before a smile entered them, "Well I am not staying here until I am as scrawny as you to fit, so you might have to make some repairs to your den. Come eat before the food gets cold.

Canada sighed in resignation, watching part of the fort's entrance cave in as Russia awkwardly backed out before following his keeper indoors.

* * *

><p>The pair ate in relative silence, as usual on Canada's end. Russia could not complain, though, since he hadn't kept the boy for lively conversation. He knew his pet listened when he spoke, though, and would return any statement with some visual or mumbled form of acknowledgement. Such as the nod he gave at Russia's observation that this would probably be the last big snow of the season since it was almost spring.<p>

The blonde's eyes flicked to the icy window for a moment as he began to clean up the dishes, looking back as a large hand wrapped around his scarred wrist. "I will take care of it, you go out and play some more," his master said, smiling up at him sweetly. Canada hesitated a moment, knowing he'd have to repay these little kindnesses later, but then again, Russia always took what he wanted anyways. When his arm was released he turned and got his coat.

* * *

><p>The plan was simple enough. America would pay Russia a surprise visit, with Prussia and Germany (who had somehow gotten suckered into the plan because Prussia thought his muscles would be useful) waited just out of sight. Then America and Germany, being the stronger two, would take Russia down while Prussia went in and found Canada.<p>

All three went over it again and again in their heads as they drove along the snow-lined highway. America would occasionally pout over not getting to just bust in and do it all himself, but the other two always forced on him the logical argument that even if he could take down Russia himself, he had no idea where to start looking for his twin in that huge house. Not to mention, though Prussia kept this to himself, America could get emotional. His reaction to seeing whatever state his brother was in would probably not be a good one, so better to leave him with the man responsible than have him end up a wreck in front of the person he was supposed to be rescuing.

There was also a selfish little part of Prussia that wanted to be the first to get to his friend. A part that was still made at America for not keeping better track of his brother, and a part that was perhaps a bit overly confident that he would know what to do better than the nation he still saw as a brat. He was old, after all, and had seen so many other nations at their worst—had had others see him as his worst and then some. America and Canada, though they certainly weren't naïve little children anymore, still had some shred of innocence ingrained into their hearts that many of the older nations could recognize. And perhaps part of him wanted to try and protect that remaining shred and spare both brothers from at least some of the pain he was all too familiar with.

* * *

><p>маленький детеныш – little cub<p>

Ahh, has it really been a month! Life is crazy, man! ;.; Just one more chapter guys. Though gee, can't be hard to tell what's gonna happen, is it?

I'm really excited to get this over and done with and work on the sequel and other stories and maybe some RusCan that's actually pleasant.


	15. Final

It was tiring, living with Russia. Being subject to his every whim wore Canada to exhaustion some days. Like now, as he felt the larger man pull out and away from him, he could not even support himself with the help of the desk he had been pressed against, but simply slid to the floor.

The blonde rested his head against his master's leg, violet eyes closing as he felt Russia's large hand stroke his hair. He would have been content to sleep like this as Russia did his work, had not some irritating chime startled both nations into alertness.

It was not until the chime happened a second time that its origin seemed to dawn on the owner of the house. "The doorbell…" Russia mumbled, the tone of his voice making it obvious that he had not been expecting anyone. His eyes flicked down to his pet, who sat gazing up at him with a childlike confusion that made his face melt into what looked like a comforting smile. "Why don't you go get cleaned up while I see who's at the door. You look like you need a nap, anyways."

Canada nodded, the only thought passing through his head that he really did need a nap. He lifted his head off the larger man's leg so he could stand and leave the office, taking longer to pull himself up onto his feet. Slowly the boy gathered his clothes which had been discarded a few minutes before when Russia had called him over to his desk. His warm red hoodie seemed so inviting against the cold air into the room that he wriggled himself right into it, letting it cover him like a tunic as he simply bunched up the rest of the clothes.

Just as his hand touched the door a large crash echoed through the house. Canada froze as more crashes followed before a moment of stillness. Then he could make out hurried footsteps, the opening and slamming of doors, a muffled voice calling out his name.

The first thing the blonde thought of was the aftermath of America's last visit. Russia's anger and drunkenness and what had almost happened because of it. He realized whoever at the door must have made him angry, and now that angry giant was looking for him. Quickly his shaking hand pulled the door open, forcing his tired body in the opposite direction of all the noise as quickly as possible.

But that was not quick enough, it seemed, as just as he hurried around a corner he felt a hand grab him and pull him back. A weak little yelp escaped him as he turned to face the Russian, a plea for mercy already on his lips.

But the person before him was not Russia. Canada felt his whole self falter at his tired brain tried to processed this other being. It was absurd, almost, the thought of anyone other than Russia. He couldn't comprehend it; he just stared dumbly at them, a part of him noting they were speaking but unable to hear what was said.

And then suddenly the voice stopped and the grip on his arm slackened. He noticed the red eyes that had been locked on his face were now looking down, down at his exposed legs. The sick feeling of warmth sliding down between his thighs made him realize just what they were staring at. He could see in the way those eyes widened that they knew. They knew what the disgusting white substance was and who it had come from. They knew Russia had just…And then something in Canada's mind finally clicked into place and he could hear again. "Gott…Mattie…Mattie, you…"

Something in that mournful tone made the blonde want to run. He pulled himself free and moved to do so, but instead of his legs taking him away they just brought him down to the floor. He heard himself whimper at the ground, feeling a part of him shutting down against the pure awfulness that he felt grip his insides and twist them up. "Gil…" He mumbled before finding himself muffled against the man's jacket.

Prussia, who had been so sure he'd know what to do and say, just held the younger nation as tightly as possible. Canada felt impossibly small, shaking beneath him. "I'm sorry, Mattie…" was all he could think to say, "I'm so sorry…I'll take you home…"

Slowly Prussia stood, trying to be as gentle as possible as he pulled the blonde up with him. Canada leaned heavily against the albino, his body not willing to support him completely. His violet eyes gazed at the floor as he felt himself being led, a vague hint of confusion crossing his overwhelmed mind when they stopped for a moment in the kitchen. A chair was pulled out for him to sit, and he watched Prussia wet a dishcloth and bring it over to him.

"Mattie," he said in a way that made him tense slightly because of the forced calmness of it. "I'm just going to clean you off a little, okay..?" Understanding of what he meant didn't dawn upon Canada until a hand was trying to gently pry his legs apart.

"A-Ah!" he gasped, looking up to his friend who gazed at him apologetically.

"I promise I'm not going to hurt you. I swear, Mattie." He stroked the boy's shoulder in what he hoped was a calming manner as he wiped the cloth over his inner thigh. "I won't go any higher than this, okay? Just…just ought to get a little of this off…" The Prussian bit his lip as he tried to get as much of Russia's remains off the poor boy as he could without sending him into a panic attack. America was waiting and he didn't need to see this. "See?" he said softly as he stopped, helping the trembling boy back up, "all done, now we can go."

Canada nodded weakly, once again letting the older nation guide him through the house he had inhabited so long. As they approached the entrance way they were greeted with a great amount of noise. Canada perked up slightly at what he recognized as his brother's voice, and Prussia grimaced when he noted said brother was shouting and cursing up a storm.

The albino held tighter to his charge as they came upon the three men he had left earlier. Russia was on the floor, with America kicking him mercilessly and screaming at him. Germany stood to the side, looking utterly lost until he spotted his sibling. "I'm sorry, after we got him down he just started—a-and I wasn't sure if I should—"

"Stop it," came a weak voice from Prussia's side. Both brothers turned to look at the North American nation, who was trying to squirm out of Prussia's grip, to no avail. "Stop it!" he cried out, voice cracking, not used to being so loud. "D-Don't hurt him!"

America turned, rage in his eyes instantly disappearing at the sight of his twin. "Matt! " Canada didn't look at him, but instead was staring down at Russia. The large, strong man who had taken him and taken care of him for so many months. Who was capable of so many horrible and kind things. Something about him lying there seemed so…wrong.

"Don't hurt him…please…" he whimpered weakly as America stared at him in shock.  
>"Matt, I—"<p>

"Just leave him alone," Prussia barked, pulling the feebly struggling Canada to the door, picking him up so he wouldn't have to walk barefoot in the snow. Germany hurried ahead, opening up the car door so he could place Canada inside. America growled, giving a final glare down at Russia, who lay there silently watching them all, falling into a neutral expression that pissed the blonde off to no end. He wanted nothing more than to bash this son of a bitch's head in, but a look back to the car that held his brother was enough to get him to follow the others.

As Prussia buckled Canada into his place, America made to get in on the other side. "Nein!" the albino snapped, closing Canada's door and hurrying around to stop him. "You sit in the front." America glared down at him incredulously.

"He's my brother!"

"Neither of you are in a good mindset right now," Prussia said defiantly, glaring right back. "Sit in the front and don't say anything. He needs to rest, not have you interrogate him!"

"He's my—!"

"Alfred!" The older nation said, softer now, noticing how white the younger's knuckles had become from clenching his fists. "I know. I know he's your brother and you love him and want to help. But he's been through a lot and it's going to hurt both of you if you go getting upset right now. Just sit in the front, don't ask him anything yet, give him that little bit of space so he can rest, alright?"

America said nothing, eye glancing through the car window to his twin, who was facing away, staring blankly through his own window. He hated being told what to do, especially when it came to his own family, but for a split second he thought Prussia might be right. Without looking back to the other, he turned and went to climb into the passenger seat, leaving Prussia to get in beside Canada.

Germany started the car as everyone finished settling in, the low hum of the heat the only sound other than the occasional shuffle. Prussia wrapped a blanket around Canada, who rested his head against the icy window; America did the same, glaring out at the frozen scenery as they drove on. It did not take long for Canada to fall asleep, his twin following a few hours after, to Germany and Prussia's relief.

By the time they reached Germany's house, the sun had gone down and crept back up again, Prussia had switched places with his brother so he could rest from driving about halfway through, and was more than happy to pull up to his home and nudge the other two rescuers awake. America stretched and groaned while Germany pulled out the still sleeping Canada, wrapped tightly in his blanket.

"You guys can stay here for a day or two, okay?" Prussia said, walking ahead with America to get the door for his brother. "Rest up before you take him home." The younger nation simply nodded, watching Germany disappear up the stairs to put his twin to bed in the guest room before plopping down onto the couch.

"..Thank you…" he said softly, tiredness not just from sleep evident in his voice. Prussia collapsed beside him, feeling that same weariness.

"He's my friend, there's no way I wouldn't help," he mumbled, curling up against the arm rest. There was a moment of silence as America became lost in thought, both nations contemplating what would become of the thin blonde sleeping upstairs. But by the time Germany returned from settling him in they had both fallen asleep, and he decided to do the same.

* * *

><p>Canada woke in a dark, unfamiliar room. Or at least he thought he did, some part of him still felt as if he were dreaming.<p>

As quiet as he could, he crept out into the hall, feeling his way along until he came to a staircase and traveled down. Slowly his eyes began to adjust to the dark, enough so that he recognized his twin when he found him sleeping on the couch. He couldn't help but stare at his brother's sleeping face, bringing a hand up to his own and wondering if they still looked the same.

Canada could have stayed there all night had Prussia's voice not made itself known. "Mattie…?" the albino called out in a whisper, standing in the doorway with a glass of water. He turned to him, even in the dark Prussia could tell something was missing in those violet eyes.

"…Is this really real…?" the blonde asked, almost inaudible. "I swear I've had dreams just like this…and then woken up next to Russia…"

"Just like this?" Prussia asked, going to stand beside him.

"Well…Germany's new." Prussia smiled weakly, patting his friend's shoulder.

"This is real, Mattie. If you go back to bed, I promise you'll wake up in the guest bedroom, and America will be right here on the couch, and when you feel up to it, he'll take you home." Canada's eyes traveled back to his brother before moving to the floor, biting his lip in thought. For a moment he looked as if he wanted to say something, but decided better of it.

"A…alright…" Prussia gazed at him, concern tugging at his heart. Quietly he handed him his glass of water and placed a hand on his back, turning him back towards where he had come from.

"Go on back to bed, Mattie. There's plenty of time to worry later." He gave his back a little rub before nudging him forward. He watched the blonde's head lean forward a bit before he walked back into the darkness of the house. For a moment he felt the urge to follow, but instead went back to the couch, pushing America's feet out of the way and going back to sleep.

* * *

><p>Aaaand that's where I'm ending it.<p>

Geez, this is the first fic I've finished since, like, middle school. Though I guess technically it isn't finished since I plan on a sequel eventually. Don't expect it too soon, though. I have school, and other fics I'm considering. But at least Canada is safely free from Russia now (sorry to those who wanted him to stay.)

Um, please review and let me know what you thought.


	16. Shell Shock

**This is just a notice that the first chapter of the sequel, Shell Shock, is up. Please go check it out if you want more of this story.**


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